


wounds without a bandage

by saucerfulofsins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, S7/8, Sheith Angst Week 2019, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucerfulofsins/pseuds/saucerfulofsins
Summary: The moment stretches as Shiro desperately seeks to fill his lungs. Keith shifts, keeps him in place, holds his gaze.For Sheith angst week 2019, day 6: unrequited.





	wounds without a bandage

He can’t discern why getting used to his new body is so difficult.

Maybe it is the bulk of muscle, after all those months that he spent inside Black’s consciousness, incorporeal and fleeting, constantly fading; dissipating into the ether. Maybe it is the loss of his arm, again, although the experience has been worse this time—he can’t seem to get used to the empty space by his side, frequently reaching out to grab his cup before realising that the hand doesn’t exist anymore.

None of this keeps him from sparring.

Maybe he needs it. Needs that outlet, the normalcy even if he is still loses his footing a little too fast.

These days he is slow, he knows; slower than Keith is used to him being in any case. The memories from _before_ exist, with his body feeling strong and fast and the memories of being the champion not quite so worn down. And Keith, Keith is quicker, sharp and fast and Shiro can tell that even through all that he is accommodating to Shiro to make him feel like less of a _loser_.

He still does.

Does feel like a loser, when Keith easily works him to the floor, using well-practised skill to his advantage, knocking Shiro off balance. Shiro tumbles along with it, winded even before Keith lands on top.

The moment stretches as Shiro desperately seeks to fill his lungs. Keith shifts, keeps him in place, holds his gaze.

He feels, not sees, Keith’s hand finds his hip. The gentle brush of his thumb along the bone, quiet circles that send a new kind of static through Shiro’s body—and with dread he opens his eyes because Keith has no reason to know how to touch Shiro, not like this.

With shivers still sparking up his spine like a tender electrical current, heat that pools unwanted in his stomach, he opens his mouth and tries to speak but all that comes out is a whispered exhalation.

Keith realises too, this mistake he made, backing off and tumbling backwards. Shiro’s known him for years, he knows how to read that face and those shoulders—and something heavy grows in his stomach. Immediately, he wishes it was gone, that there was no reason for the stone to sit there.

“I’m,” Keith starts, shaking his head as he gets up. “Sorry, I need to—I need some time alone.”

He looks terrified, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed as he hurries off at a jog; Shiro can see the tension in his entire body.

Shiro drops his head back, closes his eyes and strokes his fingers along the spot Keith just touched. The burn of his touches and he wants it gone, replaced or erased. More than anything, he wishes Keith hadn’t known, and he thinks he knows how he figured it out.

* * *

Keith visits him that night after the lights dim low. Shiro isn’t sure how late it is; he hasn’t been sleeping but even these endless insomniac nights are nothing compared to the time he spent haunting Black’s consciousness.

The entrance to his room opens with a quiet rush of air and Keith enters, his head bent low, like he’s afraid to meet Shiro’s eyes.

“I didn’t know he wasn’t you,” he mutters without greeting, allowing the door to slide shut behind him. With nowhere else to sit, Keith joins Shiro where he’s sitting upright on his bed. “I wouldn’t have done it, if I had known.”

Shiro wants to rub Keith’s back in comfort, but more than that he doesn’t want to give Keith the wrong idea here—not when there plenty of miscommunication may germinate from such a delicate time. He’s always been privy to a general awareness of Keith’s feelings for him, even before dying, but he wasn’t aware of their escalation into something beyond a harmless crush.

Instead, he waits and listens, quietly hoping that Keith won’t need too much prompting because Shiro doesn’t know what to say.

“It happened a few times, before I left. You—_He_ came to me, you know I wouldn’t have otherwise, I was always happy to just remain your friend.” Shiro hears the tremble in Keith’s words, the breakdown of his resolve to stay strong for Shiro. “I think so, anyway. I don’t know. But I couldn’t say no when I got the opportunity.”

Keith rubs his neck and his arms with long slender fingers, then his eyes with his sleeves, like he’s wiping away tears before they fall. Shiro feels something in his chest shatter, a fracture that runs clear through his ability to breathe.

“I didn’t want to,” Keith adds. “I was—too weak. Weak, yeah. Too in love, I guess.” His laughter, once it comes, is self-deprecating. “I still am, I guess? It doesn’t matter which version of you it is, Shiro. I’ll always love you.”

“And he didn’t love you,” Shiro finally adds, his mouth dry. The guess is merely educated, and he knows where this conversation will lead, even if he wants to protect Keith—this will be Keith’s ultimate sacrifice, irreversibly imminent but no less awful for it.

“I know now it was Haggar,” Keith says, his movements growing increasingly nervous—jittery, spasmodic almost as he curls his arms around his body in an attempt to comfort himself. “She was using Kuron to drive me off. I guess it—yeah, I guess it makes _sense,_ now.”

Shiro nods. He knows he must look pale and tired because he feels sweaty and lethargic but there is nothing more he can make of _this_—this, _them_, these feelings of Keith that Shiro cannot return.

“We fucked,” Keith adds on a wet gasp, tears squeezing from his eyes. “You—him, I don’t know, your body but Kuron inside of you. You fucked me, I did you, we _screwed _every evening for some time until he decided that he wanted me gone.”

“Was that when you joined the Blades?” Shiro tentatively asks, curling his fingers into a fist so he won’t reach out and touch in a façade of comfort.

Keith shrugged. “I couldn’t do it anymore. He said he loved me, but it never sounded real, not the way I imagined it would be. We kissed until he pushed me off and he wanted me on my front—he only wanted me to get off. _He_ only wanted to get off. _Fuck_.” Keith’s voice skips, breaks, sounds like a broken record as he gasps for air and tries to swallow another sob. 

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro offers into the quietude of Keith’s tears, because there is nothing else to say.

He watches as Keith shrugs, his lips pulled into a thin line—he must have expected Shiro’s response. He wants to soothe Keith still, can’t blame him for hoping for a different response. He knows that, had he been in Keith’s place, he would have done the same.

“It’s fine,” Keith says with a strained voice. “It’s okay, I’ll deal with it. I just needed to let you know.”

Then he gets up, tense and stiff. Under any other circumstances, Shiro would have gotten up and hugged him. Would have walked Keith back to his room and to sure he is okay. Now, he can tell Keith is trying not to fall apart as he exits Shiro’s room—and Shiro tries not to think of the tears running down Keith’s cheeks or the flush of his skin as he lies back down onto his cold mattress.

All he can do now is to distance himself from Keith, from the others. There is no future for him as a Paladin and less so for friendships; not a friendship with Keith, who is desperately in love with him, nor with the others, who Shiro has left down again and again.

This is for the best, he decides. This is the only option.

He’ll build his own life. He’ll leave them alone, leave them to prosper in a way they cannot with him present. They deserve better and Shiro can grant them this much.


End file.
